Luke 15
by Order of the Aether
Summary: Life is crazy. I wrote this so that we can take a moment and breathe. Summary: Steve reads from a leather book with a thin, satin bookmark. Bucky feels like he remembers it. Post-CA:TWS, no slash, the Remembered AU. Christian themes.


**A/N: I don't think I have to explain myself given Steve's quote from the Avengers. This one-shot reinforces the headcanon I've hinted at before that if Bucky has a nightmare, Steve does his best to talk him down and then crashes on his bed for the rest of the night without going back to his own room. But anyway, without further ado...**

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 **Luke 15**

Steve read from a small, heavy leather book with a thin, satin bookmark. Bucky knew this because he'd often seen it sitting on Steve's nightstand, close by his head. Every time he saw it, the bookmark had moved slightly, and as the weeks went by the leather binding looked a little more worn.

It reminded Bucky of something he couldn't place, like an itch of a memory at the back of his mind, but when he asked, Steve said that he'd bought the book recently, so Bucky didn't understand why he recognized it.

It had never occurred to him that Steve would have to calm down after talking about (or sitting in silence after) Bucky's nightmares, but he guessed he should have known.

It was sometime after midnight—when, exactly, Bucky wasn't sure. He'd lost track of the time he lay awake beside Steve, lost in the tired oblivion and staring at the faint, shifting patterns inside his eyelids to calm himself, before he realized that a light was still on.

Bucky rolled over. Steve had the beside lamp on, and he had the heavy leather book in his lap. Now that it was open, Bucky could see how thin the pages were, that the words ran in two columns down each page like a poem, and that the pages were lined in soft silver.

The itch started up in his memory again, and Bucky swatted it away, sinking his face into the pillow. He was too tired too talk about memories and old days right now. And Steve looked so peaceful, his face almost completely void of those lines of concern, though his expression shifted sometimes to gentle surprise, sadness, grim agreement, comfort, or concentration as he read.

The itch was becoming more like a pricking. Bucky couldn't distract himself from it by watching the way Steve's blue eyes shifted rhythmically to the right, reset down and to the left, and shifted right again, so he stopped trying and sat up against the headboard to make his presence known.

It worked. Steve looked up. "Hey," he greeted him softly. "You're still up?"

Bucky nodded back. His voice wasn't working.

Steve glanced at the lamp and almost looked sheepish. "I'm keeping you up, aren't I?" He folded the book on its bookmark and reached for the lamp, though he seemed reluctant to do it. "I'm sorry, Bucky, I'll—"

"It's fine," murmured Bucky. He didn't want Steve to stop reading. He didn't want Steve to be guilty again, when he'd been so calm and at ease before.

Steve stopped and turned, his hand still near the lamp. "You're sure?" he asked, and that sounded more hesitant than when he offered to turn it off.

Bucky stared at the little leather book. "What is it?" he asked. Maybe that would get Steve to read again.

Steve looked surprised, then a little sad, but finally composed himself. "It's my Bible," he said. "I'm reading Luke."

Again, that itch roared up. Bucky shot a look at Steve that was more or less supposed to mean _this is important but I can't remember why it is, so please explain before it drives me insane_.

Steve brightened up at that. "Do you want to hear it?" he asked, with the tone of voice that meant _please say yes_.

He looked so happy that Bucky nodded and slid back under the covers until he was lying down on the pillows. It felt good to make Steve happy. It was different from the sadness or worry he usually caused (which Steve always tried unsuccessfully to hide).

And Steve _was_ happy. He could barely get the thin pages sorted out as he got the book open, and then he frowned at the passage with the bookmark. "Hang on a sec, Buck," he said, and flipped a few pages back.

Bucky could see numbers in bold as he went backwards—Steve had bookmarked it at 22, but as he went back Bucky saw 20, 19, 17, and finally 15.

Some paragraphs of the words were printed in red—Bucky didn't like red, it reminded him of things he'd rather forget—and he wasn't very happy when Steve stopped on 15 and nearly the whole chapter was printed red. But Steve seemed to smile when he skimmed it quickly, and he lay back against the headboard, making it creak under him a little bit, as he put his arm around Bucky beside him.

Bucky could feel Steve's thumb stroking back and forth on his shoulder as Steve began to read. "Now the tax collectors and 'sinners' were all gathering around to hear him," he started in a low cadence. "But the Pharisees and the teachers of the law muttered, 'This man welcomes sinners and eats with them.' "

Bucky was surprised when Steve took on a contemptuous tone for the second half of it, as if he was imitating someone else. He shifted closer to Steve and followed the words on the page as he read on, "Then Jesus told them this parable:"

And now they were to the red words. If Steve was going to do a voice for this person, Bucky braced himself for the voice of a handler, or worse.

But Steve surprised him again as he went on, giving a voice that was kind and warm. "Suppose one of you has a hundred sheep and loses one of them," he read. "Does he not leave the ninety-nine in the open country and go after the lost sheep until he finds it?"

Bucky was again conscious the wistful smile on Steve's face. "And when he finds it, he joyfully places it on his shoulders and goes home." There, a soft pressure on Bucky's right shoulder, and then it was gone.

"Then he calls his friends and neighbors together and says, 'Rejoice with me!' " The voice Steve gave the shepherd was a little bit strained, as if Steve was trying to hold back something of his own as he read. "'I have found my lost sheep.'

"I tell you that in the same way," he went on, "there will be more rejoicing in heaven over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous people who need not repent."

By this time, Bucky supposed he could forgive the words for being printed in red, and he settled down under the covers. As long as words were good, they really deserved a different color, but they were allowed to be red.

"Or suppose a woman had ten silver coins and loses one..." Steve read on, and as he did Bucky shut his eyes and let the lamplight tint the inside of his eyelids a soft orange.

He heard a story about a woman who swept her house until she found her lost coin, and then a long story about a man and his two sons that nearly made Steve cry when the younger one was lost and the father welcomed him back home. Steve kept reading, sometimes turning pages, sometimes staying on one for a long time, but Bucky couldn't really listen, his mind drifting in and out of sleep.

The nightmares faded away, forgotten, and the itch of a memory was satisfied for now. The last sensation Bucky remembered before he dropped off was a faint memory of wooden walls, long pews, and the smell of pine.

For the first time he could remember—and Bucky could remember very little, so he held on to what he could—Bucky felt like he was home.

 _—fin_

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 **A/N: Anyone who knows what Luke 22 is about will understand why Steve didn't read that one. Wrong time. But this particular passage I think would mean a lot to them.**

 **Reviews are quiet nights in peace.**


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